


He Deserves Her

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV Original Character, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-06
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years after the game's conclusion, Malik is married and Altair is curious...And Farah has ideas of her own on who should run the bureau.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Impostor

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea a while ago and it had to come out. Don’t know if it’s any good, but I kinda like it. Set somewhere after the game. Malik and Altair have returned from Masyaf. 
> 
> Farah = Joy. I figured Malik derserved joy...

Farah had been overjoyed when they returned last night. Malik had been tired beyond belief, but had still found time to kiss her softly before turning in.

The next morning she had woken quietly in the early morning, slipping out of his warm embrace and pulling on his clothes. She had been wearing them for the past two weeks, so they had become almost as familiar to her as her own. Walking into the main room of the bureau, she had marvelled briefly at the beautiful slant of light that morning. She moved outside into the covered space under the Assassin’s entrance and poked awake two young novices, sending them off on a morning scout of the city. She smirked at Altair’s humped form, and then retreated inside for some hot beans and flatbread.

She organised forms as the sun rose higher. The heat was rising, and she assumed that she would soon be welcoming Altair into the inner part of the bureau; it certainly got hot outside in the summer.

The novices returned, sweating and panting, and she bade them sit at the table and take some flatbread for breakfast. She watched them tuck in and chastised one for stuffing his food into his mouth too quickly. They joked with her and fooled around, causing her to tell them mockingly, “You two should be ashamed! What assassin would act like you?” with a small smile.

An older assassin appeared as they were talking. “Safety and peace, Dai,” the man mumbled without looking up. The novices sniggered. He shot them a hard look before focusing on Farah. He did a double take.

“Safety and peace,” Farah said with a smirk. “What can I help you with?”

“M-my target is an influential guard,” the assassin said, taking the appearance of a female Dai in his stride. “Can you tell me where I should search?”

Farah informed him and he rushed off. After shooing the novices out of the bureau with locations where they should look for information, she relaxed on one of the large pillows with a cool drink. Altair had mysteriously disappeared. Farah couldn’t guess where he’d gone, but Malik would probably be annoyed about it when he woke up.

After she returned inside, the older assassin came back from the city. “I have enough information,” he told her. She listened to his account, then passed him a feather.

“Bring glory to the brotherhood.”

He nodded and disappeared. Farah sighed and let her shoulders slump.

“It seems we have an impostor in our midst,” a voice said from the doorway to the living quarters. Farah jumped and turned. Malik was standing in the doorway, looking at her, one eyebrow raised. She smiled and ran the few steps to him, hugging him around the middle. He stroked her hair for a second, then put his arm around her. “And why exactly have you stolen my clothes?”

“Who else did you expect to run the bureau while you were away?” she said into his coat.

He laughed. “Not you, obviously. Has everything run smoothly?”

“Very, thank you.”

He rested his head on hers. “Good.” They stayed that way for a while, enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence. Malik looked up after a time, scanning the bureau. “Where’s that bastard Altair gone?”

“I have no idea.” Farah said, pulling away to look at him.

He frowned. “Humph. As long as he doesn’t get himself into trouble, he should be fine.”

Farah smiled wickedly. “Didn’t you say trouble was his middle name?” she asked innocently.

Malik grimaced at her. “Don’t remind me.” He let her go and moved back. “I assume since you took my place again today, your intention is that I should rest?”

“It is,” she lifted her chin, “and a husband should always listen to his wife.”

“Obviously.” Malik smiled softly, then pulled her closer and placed a kiss on the crown of her head. “Goodnight.”

She laughed. “Goodnight.”

 


	2. A Moment Of Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A romantic moment.

Soft night air caressed her skin, twitching the light curtains that covered the window. The moon was full and bright, hanging over the Holy City like the brightest lamp in existence. Farah reached out towards it, almost sure that she could catch it with one hand and bring it back to rest in her palm.

She was kneeling on the bed, leaning out of the open window. Soft sounds of the city drifted in along with the warm and fragrant night air. She breathed in deeply, meaning to savour it all and hear it all.

Behind her in bed, she felt Malik stir, woken by her absence. She didn’t move as he sat up. “Farah?” he asked sleepily.

“Uhmm?” she hummed, still entranced by the night.

He scooted over to her, sitting down on her left side and wrapping his arm around her waist. He looked out at the night with her, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me?” Farah asked. Malik looked at her. Starlight was reflected in her eyes as she gazed upwards. He smiled.

“Yes. It was something along the lines of: ‘We are all in the gutter-’”

“…but some of us are looking at the stars,” she finished. “Yes. I remember well. I remember thinking, ‘He is so far above me’. But you leant down and picked me up, showed me compassion…” She dipped her head slightly, then buried her face into Malik’s shoulder. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice muffled. He smiled and kissed her head.

She looked back up at him and smiled, tears still in her eyes. “It’s not like me to be…like this, is it?”

He shook his head. “No. But I don’t mind. It only makes you human.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s so beautiful out there. It’s hard to believe that the people assassins kill even exist when the world looks like this.”

He sighed. “But exist they do,” he said wearily. “At least no one will be coming after you anymore,” he added quietly. She shuddered, but said nothing.

They sat in silence a while, taking in the night. Then Malik moved to go back to bed, catching Farah’s arm and intending to draw her with him. She sat still and didn’t move, however. “Farah? Is something wrong?”

“Malik? Will you be going anywhere soon?”

He looked at her oddly. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“I…I was just thinking…when I looked out…how, when you go away, and you come back, and you say, ‘Did you handle the bureau alright on your own?’ and my female spirit snaps at you how I can take care of it just as well as a man…” Malik smiled. He had been treated with that lecture many a time. “I thought about the other question…” she hesitated.

“What question, love?” he asked softly.

“Everyone asks, ‘Did you miss me?’ And obviously yes, I did, but…” her voice grew more passionate, “I swore that if I loved a man, I wouldn’t be one of those stupid saps who fall apart the minute their man is gone,  I would be strong, I would be brave and carry on, but…” she began to sob quietly.

Malik pulled her close to his chest. “I know you can survive on your own,” he said soothingly, stroking her loosely tangled mass of hair, “I know how independent you are, Farah. You are strong, and brave, and so beautiful-”

She pulled back to look at him suddenly, crying, “But it’s so hard! I know I am strong and can survive on my own; I know I don’t need you all the time. So why does my heart tell me I’m wrong? How can it sit there in my chest and tell me I’m so weak and lonely whenever I miss you, whenever I miss your hand on my back or your kiss on my cheek, and your looks that make me feel like you want to burn my face into your memory and- and-” Farah broke down into true sobs, and Malik held her close and whispered to her softly until her tears were gone and her weeping ceased to wrack her body with terrible shakes.

He put his mouth to her ear and whispered softly, “We all think those things, Farah. Even us men. Lord knows, I can barely stand to be without you. Why do you think I never go to Masyaf as often as I am meant to? I cannot bear leaving you behind. Your sweet face as I walk out of the door, it pulls my heart back, almost stopping me in my place and forcing me backward to your arms. I feel I am weak, then. But I know I can survive, just, as I know you can too. I will try never to leave for too long Farah; my heart bleeds when I am away from you. But not everyone can be together always, so know this; you are strong enough to do anything, anything you please. Including,” he grinned slightly, “including running my bureau.”

She pulled away slightly to look into his face, then kissed him softly, lips lingering for a few moments. “I love you,” was all she said. He smiled contently and pulled her gently back to their side of the bed, wrapping her in the light blanket and shifting her slightly so she lay on her side, under his arm, head resting on his shoulder. She sighed quietly, happily, and closed her eyes.

And both slept on, the quiet calm of the Holy City at peace seeping into their dreams, which were in turn filled with light and life. And, of course, each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote about being in the gutter looking at the stars is Oscar Wilde’s. I thought it suited them, since Malik first found Farah in a gutter, as a begging whore. He took her in and helped her, and she fell in love with him. And him with her, obviously. I may write about that, if I get an idea.


	3. An Assassin Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farah has impersonated Malik once before. She never thought she'd have to do it like this.

In the rich district of the city, an important assassination had gone wrong.

It had been planned and thought through and drawn out a thousand times, but still, it had gone wrong. The target had been informed, and now so many guards had appeared that the group of ten assassins sent were overwhelmed. A message had been sent back to the bureau through the connection network the guild kept up throughout the city, and now all the assassins in Jerusalem were rushing to the group’s aid.

With a run and jump, the last of the qualified assassins who lived in the Jerusalem bureau disappeared over the edge of the roof entrance. Inside, the three novices who had been completing their training in the city were preparing to leave.

Farah was watching them from behind the counter, distress in her eyes. She didn’t want the novices to go; they weren’t ready for something like this, and despite knowing they never would be until they tried, she was loath to let them out of her sight. They had become dear to her as if they were her own children, and she couldn’t bear the thought of them being hurt. Their laughter and fun filled the bureau when they relaxed there, and Farah enjoyed their company. They would joke with her and tease her, and had been practising sword fighting with her. They had accepted her seniority over them, and respected her greatly, calling her ‘Dai Farah’, much to Malik’s annoyance.

And now they were leaving, about to go into battle.

“We’re ready.” Hasam, the oldest of the novices, had come to the counter. He watched her for a second with quiet eyes, then hugged her tight. She squeezed his back, then let him go and nodded. Nadhir and Faruq also came and hugged her quickly. Then they moved to the door, turning and smiling at her, and were gone.

She sat down on the counter stool and laid her head on her arms. She stayed like that, trying not to cry, until movement within the bureau roused her. Looking up she found herself staring into a pair of golden eyes. “You’re going too?” It was a half-hearted question; of course he was going.

Altair nodded. “Do not despair, Farah,” he whispered, then vanished quietly. Farah nodded to the empty room.

It was only a moment later that Malik finally appeared. She didn’t need to look to know it was him, and she didn’t need to look to know he was going as well. He drew breath to speak, but she cut him off; “They’ve already gone, Malik. You don’t want to be late, do you?”

A moment of hesitation, then; “Farah…I thought you would be…against this?”

She tugged in a short breath, trying to control her voice. “Of course. But you have to go, don’t you?” she said, quietly and sadly.

He walked up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Farah…I’m sorry to leave you.” Farah stayed silent, not trusting her voice. “It’ll be dangerous on the streets, so don’t leave the bureau, whatever you do,” he continued, squeezing her shoulder slightly. She nodded. “Farah…I’ll be careful, I promise.” She ducked her head, desperately battling against her tears. It was a battle she lost, and she buried her head in Malik’s coat as he held her tightly. “I’ll be fine, Farah,” he whispered into her ear. “I’d never leave you.”

Farah sniffed, then pushed away, tears still trickling down her face. “If you don’t leave now, you’ll miss it all anyway,” she said, her voice horse. Malik’s eyes searched her face for a second, before pulling her into a soft kiss. Without saying a word, he disappeared over the lip of the roof.

Farah stood for a while, stock still, crying softly. She trailed into their bedroom, and curled up on the bed, taking one of his pillows and burying her head in it. By the time her tears had run out, she had a stinging headache and felt utterly miserable.

She started at a loud knock from the door. Jumping up, she hurried out of the bedroom and into the main room, and over to the front door. She opened it cautiously, peeking out. An old woman with a scarf covering all but her eyes was standing in the doorway. Recognising the woman as one of the contacts in the network of informers, Farah opened the door wider to let her in. “Where is the Dai?” the woman asked as she entered.

“He’s…he’s gone…” Farah choked.

The woman eyed her. “Gone? To the battle?”

Farah nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

The woman sighed. “Huh. Well then, I guess I’ll have to give my message to you. Not that there’s much point…but the battle’s not going well. They haven’t been able to assassinate the target, so they can’t get away. His men are well trained and while he’s alive the assassins won’t be able to do much.” The woman nodded, then disappeared.

Farah stood, shell-shocked, in the doorway. _They were losing?_ Her head spun. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could do!

But wait. Maybe there was…

Farah ran back to the bedroom. Violently pulling open the wardrobe door, she pushed the clothes roughly aside and removed the false back with shaking fingers. Behind it was what she had found about four months ago while replacing clothes; the outfit of a Master Assassin. She had instantly known it was Malik’s old robe, and there on the arm was the gash to prove it. Frantically, she pulled it out, trying not to think about the idiocy of what she was about to do. She’d worn assassin’s clothes before, but that had only been to fill in Malik’s place in the bureau, a safe, fairly easy job. Now she was going to do the unthinkable; pretend to be a Master Assassin and try to assassinate a target. She cleared her head of all thought, focusing only on what she was doing at that moment.

A few minutes later she was outside the bureau, running. The assassination attempt was going on just outside the gates to the temple. She reached it and looked down upon the scene below. Civilians were cowering in the streets around the square, screaming and shouting. In the middle, a huge battle was taking place. It was obvious that the assassins were outnumbered, and the target’s men were fighting hard. So far no assassins seemed to have been lost, but it was only a matter of time.

Farah looked up. The target, Salac Ha-Akdeep, an influential and corrupt merchant, was standing just outside the gates. A crowd of six of his men kept him safe, and the battle was happening well away from him anyway. He smiled, and Farah’s blood boiled. How dare he smile when her family were going to be killed? He would die.

She jumped and sprang; her years as an urchin of the streets lending her the skills she needed to climb the steep faces of buildings. Beggars, urchins and assassins alike all knew that the roofs were the best way to escape the guards. Farah grinned at the long ladder which had been leaned against the sheer wall surrounding the temple. A few archers were stationed at the top; this was obviously their way up and down. She swung up onto the rungs, and a minute later peeked over the edge of the wall. The archers’ attention was consumed with the battle. She jumped out and plunged her knife into the first one, quick as a striking snake, just as Hasam, Nadir and Faruq had taught her. The others she disposed in the same way. Stationing herself above the Salac, she knew she had little time. The soldiers would notice the archers’ disappearance soon. 

Her heart leapt into her mouth. There, right beside Salac, was a wagon of hay. Her limbs remembered the sensation of falling, the weightlessness of flight. The leap of faith. The perfect hiding place and the perfect end. Getting to her feet, she spread her arms wide. _Oh Lord, if you hear my prayers, hear me now,_ she begged, and leapt. Flying, falling, fast as an eagle, she whispered, “I’m coming, Malik.”

She thanked any God she could think of as she landed safely. The straw around her shifted as she peeked up through it, over the edge of the wagon and out at Salac. He was still there. She would need to be quick, leaping out of the wagon and running across the mere few metres to where he stood. She tensed, then breathed deep. _Do it, Farah._

She leapt, and the straw fell away behind her as she ran over the hard stone. She felt the hilt of the sword in her hand, and pulled it free of the scabbard with a hiss. She barely registered the shouts and screams. Her attention focused on the man turning to her, too late to do anything and presenting the perfect target. She closed to within a metre then leapt, swinging the sword around to her right, beheading the unfortunate merchant with one sweep. His head fell to the floor with a soft thud which was clearly audible in the silent square. It’s knees crumpling, the body fell a second later, bright red blood marking the gray stone.

Farah stood, sword still raised, and stared at what she had done. _How on earth did that_ work _?_ she thought, gaping. Silence reigned, sudden and eerie. Then all hell broke loose.

“Run!” she heard Altair’s voice yell. The assassins scattered, jumping to rooftops and scuttling up walls like monkeys. Guards yelled, women screamed, and Farah realised that about ten men were charging towards her, waving their bare swords and screaming. _Time for a quick exit,_ she thought, and dived into the narrow street behind her.

A pile of boxes offered a path to the rooftop which she gladly took, jumping and taking mad risks. The guards howled behind her, their chase hindered by her instinctive speed. She raced across the flat and sometimes sloping roofs, and the guards thankfully disappeared behind her. Hiding in a roof garden would have been a good next step, but Farah was aware of time; if she didn’t get back to the bureau before the others, they’d know what she’d done. She couldn’t guess at their reactions…well, she could guess Malik’s. He would probably want to lock her in the bureau for the rest of eternity, and something told her the others might not look unfavourably on the idea.

She scampered and leapt, aware always of rooftop archers. The bureau roof entrance appeared before her, and she thanked her lucky stars that no one was entering. But when she got to it, she could hear voices inside. _Damn,_ she thought, _what do I do now? Can they execute someone for impersonating a Master Assassin?_

“They can execute you for that, you know.”

Farah had to bite her tongue hard to keep from crying out, and she almost fell off the roof in shock. She twisted to face the voice, fighting the instinctive defensive crouch. A quiet, calm figure in white stood behind her, arms crossed. She breathed hard. “You could have turned calmly,” Altair continued, “and my suspicions wouldn’t have been confirmed.”

Farah stared at him desperately, then clutched his arm. “Please, please don’t tell-”

“Malik?” Altair finished, frowning darkly down at her. “He’s your husband, Farah. He should know.”

 “But he’ll kill me,” she gasped weakly.

Altair’s expression softened. “He loves you, Farah,” he said softly, “Maybe he will be angry at you, but he’d never hurt you.”Her leapt, and the straw fell away behind her as she ran over the hard stone. ew metres to where he stood.

Farah barely stifled a whimper. Altair looked at her with a sympathetic frown. “It worked, didn’t it?” he asked quietly. Farah nodded. “So where’s the problem?” He threw the question over his shoulder as he moved to the entrance.

“But Altair-” Farah started. But he was gone, and a second later she heard his voice ring from inside.

“Malik! I found Farah.” She gasped, her stomach sinking as fast as she had fallen earlier. Or perhaps faster. Malik’s voice, incomprehensible, said something slightly desperate sounding back. “Outside.” Altair answered.

“What?” Malik’s voice was closer, angry and worried. More worried, Farah decided. A slight relief. “I told her to stay inside.”

“Hmmm, you told Farah what to do. And how many times, _exactly_ , has that worked in the past?” Altair asked snarkily.

“Shut up, Altair!” Malik replied, sounding ready to punch something. Or someone. “Where the hell is she?!”

“She’s outside, as I said.” Before Malik could scream something at him, Altair continued, “On the roof. With our mystery assassin.”

There was confused silence. “With…the mystery assassin?” Hasam’s voice asked.

“On the roof?!” Malik exploded. “What the hell is she doing up there?” Farah tensed as footsteps began to ascend the ladder from the bureau. There was no time to hide. Malik appeared at the top and caught sight of her. He quirked his head to the side, confused, and climbed to the top. Hasam and Nadir followed eagerly, also stopping on the roof to stare at her. Her cheeks burned, and she wondered why they didn’t instantly start shouting, or screaming, or at least gaping or gasping.

 “Where is Farah?” Malik asked, managing to address both her and Altair at the same time. She jumped as she realised the hood still covered her face. They couldn’t see her; they didn’t know…

“Oh?” came Altair’s voice from the bureau, “Did I forget to mention that the mystery assassin _is_ Farah?”

Slowly, Malik, Hasam and Nadir turned to stare at her. Though she usually fought the submissive gesture, she ducked her head low and stared at the ground. Suddenly, the idiocy she had fought off in the bedroom seemed so sensible. What was she _doing_? No matter that it had worked, she was no assassin; she shouldn’t take risks like them, shouldn’t wear their clothes, shouldn’t try to fight their war. She was a _wife_ ; she should be at home, where it was safe. She’d never wanted to conform, never wanted to match the image of the perfect wife. She’d rebelled, and worn Malik’s clothes and drunk beer and joked like a man, had trained with the novices and won their respect like a man. But her conscience knew; she was a woman, a wife, and with that came responsibility. The responsibility to stay safe so the man she loved could worry less about her.

Looking at him now, she felt ashamed of herself, no matter that her crazy plan had worked, no matter that Altair didn’t seem angry at her for doing it. While Hasam and Nadir stared at her with open eyed awe and amazement, all that registered on his face was shock. Mind-blowing, heart-clenching, soul-destroying shock. She wanted to throw herself from the roof. She had half a mind to as well, until he frowned slightly, desperately, and mouthed her name. Unable to take it, she threw herself to her knees at his feet, unaware of the novice’s indrawn breaths as she caught up the ends of his coat and clutched them, sobbing hysterically and wailing barely formed words which she hoped he understood as ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I’m an idiot’ and ‘Please lock me up for the rest of my life so I never do something this stupid/dangerous/totally insane ever again’.

Hasam and Nadir’s voices were shocked and upset above her, and even Altair could be heard asking what the hell was going on from below. Farah wailed and buried her face in the coat, only to have the fabric turn slack in her hands as Malik knelt before her. He cupped her face with his one hand and held her so he could look into her eyes. “Ah, beautiful, wondrous woman,” he whispered so only she could hear. “How am I to stay angry with you? How to even be angry in the first place? I forgive you, sweet one. Cry no more.” Farah couldn’t help herself, and he held her tightly as she sobbed into his coat.

Bringing herself back under control, she wiped her eyes and looked up at him. He smiled at her, and kissed her softly.

“Whoops. Didn’t know it would spark that kind of reaction.”

Farah felt her face scrunch into a snarl. “I’ll kill you, Ibn La-Ahad. I will murder you while you sleep.”

Malik held her tighter. “Now, Farah, no more assassin talk. You’re a lady, remember. And I’m going to lock you up for the rest of your life, of course.”

Farah gaped at him, but he laughed, so it turned into a scowl. The others laughed with him, and Altair appeared, face stretched in a rare grin, over the side of the roof. Farah glared at him over Malik’s shoulder and mouthed threats which she backed up with covert hand gestures behind her husband’s back. Altair gave her a grinning display of mock fear and concern, and the novices sniggered. “Making rude hand gestures does not befit civilised ladies either, dearest one,” Malik said knowingly.

“He deserves it,” Farah muttered, allowing Malik to draw her to her feet. Altair smiled genuinely at her and disappeared.

Hasam gasped suddenly. “Lord! We forgot about Faruq!” He and Nadir looked at each other, then dropped down into the bureau, forgoing the ladder in their haste.

Farah turned to Malik. “What happened? What’s wrong with Faruq?”

Malik frowned. “Nothing serious, though we shouldn’t have forgotten about him. He was wounded in the leg,” he turned to climb down, then waited and indicated politely for her to go first. Smirking mischievously, she jumped to the other side instead and dropped down like an assassin. She heard him laugh quietly and descend the ladder. She slipped under his arm and he kissed her head, and they walked into the bureau.

It was quiet, most assassins having retired to bed after the hard fight. Faruq was sitting on a makeshift bed by the low table, looking slightly green but otherwise normal, while Hasam and Nadir bustled around him. Malik strode over, back into his role as Dai, and instructed them briskly on how to tend his wounds. As Faruq looked around, Farah’s assassin clothing caught his eye. Both eyes widened as he stared at her. “You were the mystery assassin?” he spluttered.

The other novices laughed. “Who knew sweet, gentle Dai Farah was capable of such speed and power?” Hasam crowed, his words in truth only half-mocking.

“She flew from on high, the queen of the birds!” Nadir joined in, his tone affected exultant ecstasy.

While the novices roared with laughter, Malik’s face grew disapproving. “You should tending your comrade’s wounds, novices,” he said sternly, his glare subduing their laughter to quiet sniggers. Hasam and Nadir inclined their heads respectfully and began to bind the small puncture wound with clean fabric.

Farah crossed her arms and lent against the counter. Despite her earlier guilt and shame, she found she quite enjoyed the assassin’s clothes. She hadn’t changed her mind; she still felt rather ashamed inside about her actions, but the guilt was lessening now. She knew she would never attempt the same thing, though. Well, perhaps if Malik got himself into trouble again…

“You’re enjoying your role, Master Assassin?” a familiar voice said quietly from behind the counter.  

Farah smiled. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten, La-Ahad,” she hissed under her breath. “I still hold you responsible.”

She could almost see Altair’s smirk. “Ah, but it didn’t turn out as you expected, now did it?” he countered.

“Lucky for you,” she said.

“You could always make this,” he picked at her sleeve, “a reality.”

Farah shook her head. “I’ll have to pass. You know Malik would never survive the worry. Plus, I’ve decided I should be a better wife from now on. Conditionally.”

Altair was one step ahead of her. “You’re finally going to make Malik a father, then?”

She turned and stared at him. “What?”

Altair raised a brow. “You’ve been married almost a year and a half.”

Farah spluttered. “Yes, but…”

He nodded at Malik, then whispered, “He’d make a good father, don’t you think?”

Farah turned back and watched her husband bossing the novices around. As always, they fooled around with him and played tricks behind his back, causing him no end of trouble. But he dealt with them well, and they got the job done eventually, before being sent off to bed with some amusedly annoyed words from Malik.

“Yes or no?”

Farah’s chin dropped to her collarbone. “Yes,” she whispered, “Yes, he would be a good father.”

“Well then.” Altair smiled, and then disappeared to whichever bed he’d requisitioned for the night.

Farah felt Malik come up behind her. “What was he talking about?” Malik growled disapprovingly.

Farah smiled. “Nothing. Don’t be so suspicious of him. You know all your ‘hatred’ of him is just an act.”

“Hmmm.” Malik put his arm round her and she twisted to face him. He searched her face, then said, “He has said something. I can tell.”

Farah smiled. “Just something that made me think is all.”

“Oh?” Malik asked, beginning to walk towards their bedroom. “What kind of thing?”

Farah laughed at Malik’s disapproval. “Nothing, nothing. He’s not all bad, you know.”

Malik grunted, but said nothing more. Farah slipped from his embrace and began to remove the assassin’s clothes. She dropped a nightshirt over her head, then removed the false back of the cupboard and replaced the outfit. When she turned back, Malik was watching her. “How did you find that?” he asked quietly.

“I was replacing clothes when my knuckle knocked the back,” she said, straightening the bed cover. “I recognised the hollow sound, looked for and undid the locks, and there it was.”

Malik frowned as he climbed into bed beside her. “Humph. I suppose I will have to hide things better from now on.”

Farah wrapped an arm around his neck. “You’ll never hide anything from a woman, silly man,” she said affectionately, kissing him softly.

He settled down and drew her close. “I suppose not,” he whispered in her ear, before kissing her back, more passionately this time. She smiled as he drew the nightshirt over her head, and thought about a child. _Yes. I think that would be nice._


End file.
